


Long Live The Queen

by SBlackmane



Series: Unrequited [6]
Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Antagonist Regrets Everything, Because This is the End for Him?, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Feels, Grief, Hurt No Comfort, Kiss Goodbye?, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, a bit of Will They/Won't They from here on out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: "It's time for a new ruler in Albion.A Queen to reign supreme.Say your prayers, Logan, darling.Adalia's checked your King."





	Long Live The Queen

     Though few in number, the people of Aurora were not without their seafaring skills. Their ships were fairly impressive. The fleet reached Albion shores in the night, and sent word to their allies on land. Come morning, Page had been ferried to the flagship, and within the days to come, word had reached Sabine and the Dwellers in the east, a man named Saker, the allied leader of a mercenary outfit in Mistpeak, and Brightwall's allies as well. 

     Word had certainly reached the soldiers in Bowerstone that had fled underground and allied with the Resistance. And any other friend that could be named, including the men that had been under Flint's command. They had the makings of an army, and with a Hero on their side, everyone was certain they would prevail.

     They expected heavy mortar fire, which meant Kalin's ships wouldn't be able to sweep across until the canons were disabled, so while half their forces took the east, and the other half took the western approach, Adalia herself, along with Ben and Walter would lead an assault straight through Bowerstone's Old Quarter, to dismantle the enemy mortar, and clear a path for the Auroran fleet. Sabine didn't very well care where he was in battle, as long as he was in the thick of things, so he'd provide a well enough distraction while Adalia made her way through, and headed for the castle.

     Come dusk, it was war zone. Logan's soldiers proved tough combatants, and Adalia had to rely on her strategy more so now than ever. She had traded out her pistol for a rifle, providing more range with her shots. Taking cover behind barricades, depending on her marksmanship, rather than plunging into a skirmish like she normally would have done. 

     But this was no time for bravado; this was no time to jump out in front of an enemy like she'd painted a target on her coat. This was war, and required tactics. And she would be just another soldier in the fray. She'd be damned if she'd let Logan get the upper hand. 

     Gunsmoke and house fires clouded the air that night, bodies littered the streets, the smell of blood filled her nostrils, and every nerve was on edge. This was not the worst thing she'd ever seen, but it was terribly close. Of course, these were not innocent women and children being slaughtered mercilessly, these were trained soldiers, but still...they were human beings.

* * *

     Logan knew she was coming. 

     She was spotted in the Old Quarter an hour into it, and word reached him in the castle that she lead the assault on the city. But she was alive. That was all that mattered. She survived what waited beyond the seas, and it seemed she'd become the very savior of the people he'd hoped her to be.

     It was only a matter of time before she'd burst through that door with her sword at his throat, and he was ready for it. If it was a fight she wanted, it was a fight she would get. His soldiers swarmed enemy forces, but...He'd be damned if he wasn't tired of their game. Tired of it all. Ready for it to end. One way or another.

     He sighed as he stood rigid in the war room, looking out of the large window, seeing the smoke rise from the city below, hearing the canon fire, feeling the rumble beneath his feet.

     She had survived. Perhaps it was fate after all. 

     She proved to be much stronger than he realized, though, how much did she actually learn on her little venture beyond the open waters?...The ships that fired into the coast were Auroran, therefore, did that mean she had struck a deal with them as well? What had she promised them in return for their fleet? How much did she actually know?...And what was the point of holding on? What did it matter, in the end?

     His end?

     She was coming for his head. This time she would not hesitate. Fed up, along with the rest of the people of Albion, with Logan's rule. Better that she be the one to pull the trigger, rather than once more facing what waited across the ocean current. What would eventually come crashing to shore, wreaking havoc in Albion. But he wondered if she had the strength to do it. He wondered just what sort of things Beck and the people of Aurora filled her head with. Wondered if it was enough to motivate her to pull the trigger.

     Fate, indeed. She had surpassed every notion in his head of what she would become. In fact, it seemed that the young, innocent, hapless Princess was long gone, and in her place...something more. Adalia became the very woman he desired her to be. He knew that without a doubt. He'd seen it. Seen the fire in her eyes. In her soul.

     Strong, determined, resourceful, relentless, and, honestly, a lot more like him than she must've realized. Though much better, so...so _fearless_. And fear was exactly what fueled the monsters waiting in the dark. Perhaps...perhaps she was better suited for the throne than he, perhaps it was time to welcome it. For she was truly a Hero. Of that he was certain, and there was no doubt. If anyone could protect the people of Albion, it was a Hero. Something that Logan long accepted before hand that he simply would never be.

     He waited there, in the war room, for the outcome of the battle. It was turning in her favor. Though his soldiers were quite the match in skill and combat, with superior armor and weapons, still, she fought through them, didn't she? As brave and ruthless in a fight as their...her father ever was. Logan had to let it go. He was never truly family, was he? He was no child of the last Hero of Albion, as far as he was concerned, and he was never a brother to Adalia. His sweet Adalia. 

     The only question left unanswered was...when the time came, would she make the right choice? The choice that would save her kingdom?...Or would she sacrifice herself in attempt to liberate it from darkness, in vain?...Or...was it possible that her path would veer toward his, and in attempt to save her people, she would become as dark, as miserable, as evil as him?...Was there any other way to be? 

     But happily the villain so that others could be Heroes?

* * *

     "Shall we knock?...Nah, let's surprise him," Walter smirked, then he and Adalia kicked in the door. Both panels came crashing to the floor in front of them. Then...for all of that two seconds that she locked eyes with Logan, it was as if time stopped. Both suspended in that moment as if in slow motion, their battle fueled reunion, long awaited.

     ...So many memories they harbored with one another. Their whole lives leading up to that stretched moment in time. The King of Albion and his dear little sister, Princess Adalia, the Hero of Brightwall...

     She, no longer the fresh faced maiden who feigned for independence, who longed for freedom and a world beyond the borders of Bowerstone...He, no longer the tyrant man who took her freedom, and jealously ripped the carpet out from under her feet, awakening her to the cruel world he lived with day in and day out, forcing her to choose the fate of another. She, no longer the innocent girl he held in his arms, and he, no longer the hateful, selfish man that desired only to possess her heart, willing to kill anyone who took it from him.

     Those seconds extended, as if they could put together their entire lives in each other's eyes. To her, he looked so thin, so pale, his eyes so dark, yet...sad. To him, she looked golden, effervescent in the room, with her fiery gaze, same height, coming just to his chin, but somehow standing taller to him just then, more confident. Like a Hero. 

     The white of her clothing no longer stark, but dirty, dusty, and blood soaked was the sleeve of her sword arm. He in regal garb, though less than regal in appearance, so tired, so broken, though he stood tall and proud, hiding his pain well. They, the living heirs to the throne of Albion, hanging in the balance. They, the stark contrast of one another, the opposite, yet in a way, rather the same.

     He had started to draw his sword, but slowly sheathed it once more when he noticed it was _her_ barging in on him, accompanied by Sir Walter Beck. Her rifle was slung over her shoulder, but she held her impressive sword, though it was limp at her side, not pointed at him. She looked pale as well, as if she'd seen a ghost, and he quite the same, for all of that two seconds they locked eyes. Gods, she looked so beautiful still, if not more so, and to her...he still looked handsome, still looked like the studious young man he'd been in their youth, when she met his piercing gaze...

     "So, this is how it ends," Logan said to the both of them, breaking the silence. "The old fool, and the child who ran away." His eyes met Adalia's once more. There was a hint of sarcasm in the way he addressed her; they both knew she was more than that. "You've finally become the woman I always wanted you to be," he said, slight melancholy in his tone.

     "She's a lot more than that," Walter said, as they stepped into the room. "And now she's ready to take your place."

     "Perhaps the time has come for someone else to lead Albion," Logan agreed. All too easily, they noticed. Adalia herself was unable to form words at such submission at first. This was his surrender. They both knew it. But was it really that simple?

     "You were never a leader," she spat. "Just another tyrant." Anger fueled her words, though in truth, Logan had no idea how deep that streak of hatred ran within her. Had no idea of the layers of emotions that fed her current rage.

     "Did it ever occur to you that I may have had good reason to be?" he asked them, with a gentle tone, as he slowly made his way around the large table between them. 

     "We're not interested in your reasons," Walter interjected. 

     "Cower behind ignorance if you will," Logan said to him, "But my sister deserves to know the truth." He glanced at her, guilt in his features, and confusion in hers.

     Said truth was long overdue. 

     "Save it for the trial, Logan," Walter grabbed his arm. "You can beg for your life then."

     He removed him from the room, before the Princess could question her brother's pragmatic words, leaving Adalia standing there, astounded at what just unfolded. Unsure of how to take what Logan said with complete and utter honesty. Whatever he was hiding, she wanted to know. To be the first to know. She had a sinking feeling there was much more to this story than what she'd seen written before her.

     ...As for Logan, he was escorted by Walter to Bowerstone's jail, where he'd sent many a man in his days as ruler of Albion. The city was now garrisoned with Adalia's allies, and his own soldiers, at least those who had surrendered, or were otherwise apprehended, were detained there as well until further notice. But Logan...the ex King himself received a special cell of his own, far away from anyone else's, to stew in darkness, and silence over his defeat, his soon to be execution, and the fact that as soon as he saw Adalia his heart leapt once more. 

     It was all he had wanted. To see her face, to hear her voice, and now he would never see it again, not as he remembered it. But the next time he saw her, it would be as his Queen, and he the prisoner, sentenced to death, as she sat upon the throne. He had no doubt in his mind that the foolish people of Albion would call for his head.

* * *

     Adalia finally let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. It was done. It was over. She was free. All of Albion was free.

     So why did she still have that sinking feeling snaking within her? That something wasn't right? That something just didn't add up?

     Likely because Logan was alive, and everyone wanted him dead. A trial would be held for his heinous crimes, and a judgement would have to be made. By her. As Queen.

     It had taken several days to initially recover from the battle at Bowerstone. Several days to collect the dead, account for everyone either missing or dead, and tally. A lot of rebuilding in the future. A lot of lives lost in one hellacious night of terror. But a lot of lives saved from Logan's tyranny. A lot of people singing and praising in the streets. Praising the resistance, praising whatever gods they believed in, and praising the risen Hero of Albion. Who would be Queen soon, officially, as her coronation was planned, and would soon commence, but already people shouted in the streets...

     "Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!"

     _Long live the Queen..._

     It was the creature in the darkness that also spoke those words to her, in her dreams, the first night she spent in the castle. So odd it was to be in her old room, but there she had been. It hadn't been touched either, which was strange. Though the rest of the palace had been dutifully cleaned, dusted, and aired, her room on the other hand was...stale. Stagnant. Dusty, as if no one had entered it since she left. 

     She found herself within it, needing a moment's reprieve to collect her thoughts, and she found it there, wandering around the room, staring at the paintings. She searched the drawers, and all her belongings were still there, in the dressers, the armoire, the closet, the desk. Everything. Even a pair of ripped pajamas that had been stuffed in a drawer, and upon sight of them, memories bombarded her of the last night she spent in that room. 

     The only thing out of place was a tea cup, shattered on the floor, and the contents long soaked into the rug and dried. The smell of tea filling her senses as she stood near it. It was as if Logan hadn't allowed anyone in the room since she left, and she didn't know how to feel about such a notion.

     Though it was appropriate for her to reside in the master's chambers of the keep, she dare not enter Logan's room. Though it once belonged to her parents, it...just didn't seem right. Though at one point as she wandered through the castle, receiving bows, curtsies and praises from the servants, some familiar faces, some new, but all of them smiles, happily greeting her as Your Majesty...she found herself standing in front of a closed door, a rather large one, and on the other side of it, the Royal chamber. 

     When no one was looking she hesitantly opened the door to peer in, going no further than that. It reeked of booze, and when she inspected further, she could make out a table in the corner on which sat an assortment of empty bottles...wine bottles, glass decanters, a flask, though no cups, as if Logan gave up the notion and simply drank from the container, drank them all dry, day in and day out. 

     Intriguing, that he should need to drown his sorrows when he happily oppressed his people, craving power over them. He told her he felt he had good reason to behave that way. Even claimed that his actions were to protect Albion. Became deluded in his fantasy. So why drown his sorrows? Why suffer the way he seemingly had?

     Hard to believe he should feel guilty and dull his pain over it. Or...was it pain caused by her? Because she left him? Of course, Logan was daft, simple as that. What should she care? It was over with. She should be putting all of it behind her.

     The garden was a more peaceful place to dwell on her thoughts, though equally as painful, with the memories made there. Often she and Elliot would stroll through the garden together and talk of all sorts of things. When they were younger, she often coerced him into being her accomplice while she played pranks on the gardener and the cook. 

     Though Elliot was a mild mannered, and well behaved boy, he'd fall right in line with her, bend over backwards for her. Because he was smitten with her. The last thing she heard him say was, "Never forget that I love you." She never forgot, but it hurt to dwell on it. She had always loved him, but had always taken him for granted, and the last day she saw him, she was too concerned with her own worries to make the best of those last few minutes with him. 

     And the taint of Logan's touch had still been fresh on her skin. Elliot didn't deserve his fate, and though she equally blamed Logan, she still blamed herself as well. And for quite some time she stood up on the wall in the back of the garden, overlooking Bowerstone, looking down at the city below, until one of the guards found her there and informed her of Lydia's arrival.

     Sofia arrived by carriage, with a sleepy Lydia in tow, though she woke right up at the sight of her mother. She hadn't forgotten her, and stretched her little hands to ecstatically cling to Adalia, wrapping her little arms tightly round her neck, and the soon-to-be Queen of Albion cried tears of joy. 

     In the days to come as she and Sofia made themselves more comfortable, and prepared for the upcoming coronation, the majority of that time was spent with Lydia, parading her around the castle, and to no surprise, the whole of the Royal household was hopelessly in love with her. There was so much excitement, so many new faces, Lydia could hardly take it all in, but she did, rather in stride, smiling widely at passerby, and cackling gleefully when Spark smothered her with kisses as she played in the nursery, the very same that Adalia had slept in at Lydia's age.

     Adalia was home. Though Brightwall was lovely, and quite the educational experience for Adalia as far as life outside the castle, and the perfect place to raise Lydia, Bowerstone had always been home, whether she wanted it to be or not. She always knew that if she succeeded in overthrowing the King, she would return, and she would take her place on the throne. 

     Of course, the throne room was the one room she would not enter. Not yet. For some reason, she just wasn't ready for it. Something just didn't feel right, and she didn't know why.

     The day before her coronation, she was fitted for her Royal attire, and it was so odd to be dressed by someone else, when she'd grown used to dressing herself. But, of course, tailors had to fret for hours over measurements. No one else in Albion had her figure, apparently. She didn't know if that was good or bad or...what that meant, but it took three people most of the afternoon to get it right, and by the end of it...She hardly recognized herself. 

     She was no longer the Princess, but neither was she the Hero that gallivanted about Albion in tattered wares. She was not the humble baker in Brightwall, nor was she the tired, drained, sweaty, starving and dehydrated woman that washed up on the shores of Aurora. She was...something else. 

     Something fashioned in blue, with fur lining her neck, with golden trim and fastening, gloved and booted, sporting a replica of her father's Guild Seal, sewn into the coat. With combed hair and...well, something sort of regal. She was...she was her mother, for just a moment, imagining how she might have looked as she roamed the castle with Adalia's father before she died. Bright and shining, and for just a moment, the weight was lifted from her shoulders, breathing in and out steadily, glancing at herself in the mirror, taking it all in. She could do it.

     Couldn't she?

     This was what she fought for, wasn't it? 

     The day after, as she stood out on the balcony of Bowerstone castle, as people flooded through the gates, hundreds...nay, thousands of citizens that gathered to shout, scream at the top of their lungs, for the glory of Albion on that day that she should be crowned Her Majesty, Queen Adalia, Hero and Savior of Albion. This. This was what she fought for. She fought for Albion.

     All hail the Queen of Albion...

* * *

     Logan could hear the joyous cries all the way from his dark, damp cell, in Bowerstone's jail. His love had done it, hadn't she? Became the savior of the kingdom, they said. And he was proud, but also hurt, ashamed, angry, and afraid. Fearful for the people of Albion, but mostly for her. She was so kind to the people, so gentle, fierce and unafraid, but still somewhat innocent, and selfless. Such would be her undoing, he had always been certain. 

     And certain that his love hadn't the heart to make the choices she must in order to keep the kingdom safe. But it was out of his hands, and he would die soon anyway. So what did it matter? She was stronger that he ever was, regardless. So why was he afraid? For the first time in years?

     But he would die knowing he gave her everything. He gave her the kingdom, and he gave her his heart, whether she acknowledged it or not, wanted it or not. He belonged to her. He found a little peace in knowing that.

     He made his choice, and so did she. This was how it would end.

     It was so slow at first, but what began as nothing more than a tightening in Logan's chest, a mere glimmer of discomfort, soon raged, and he could no longer fight the tears that started to fall. What had he done? Why? Why had he done it? When all he did was lose her? Was it really worth it? Or was this merely him being selfish in wishing he'd never made an example of her, never made her choose, never backed her into a corner and driven her away, clinging to the hope that she would still be his in the end? 

     Should he have not cherished any time he had with her, instead of driving her away?

     Was it not better this way? To die knowing that he'd done the right things, for the right reasons, no matter how maniacal they seemed to the ignorant people of Albion? Or to her?

     When she shined brighter now than she ever had.

     He leaned back against the cold stone, silently weeping, alone in the darkness, with none but the shadows to see his weakness, his broken spirit, and none would ever see it. Except for her. She'd been the only one. She had been the one person in Albion to ever see the tired, broken man behind the curtain that pulled the strings, like a mad puppeteer. She'd been the only one he'd ever given in to, though she did not know it. She did not see it, and would never see it, would she?

     All she saw was a monster, and she knew not why. For he'd yet to have the chance to tell her. 

     Images flashed before his eyes of Aurora, and the darkness he found there. The death, seared into his conscious mind, as vivid as if he were seeing it for the first time. The shadowy figures screeching and descending upon them in the dark, praying on their fear. The Children, they were called. The minions of the crafty demon that taunted them in that cave. They crawled all over them, poisoning them, scattering them like roaches, then preyed upon them one by one, toying with them, using their fears, until Logan was the only one still standing...then crawling, out of the dark, shaking and sniveling in fear, close to death.

     He'd only survived because he felt for his darling little sister that waited at home, his only family, so young and helpless if he didn't make it back. If he never saw her again. How foolish he'd been, thinking _she_ was the one who needed protecting. He wanted to laugh at the thought just then.

     They haunted him every day, and every night, those monsters that waited in the shadows, every night except for the nights he shared with Adalia. He was so selfish to rob her of her innocence, but...how it made him feel alive, instead of dead inside, no better than a corpse, filled him with light, blinding, driving away the darkness. He took her light, and tried to keep it all to himself, but...she'd only gotten it back, trifold. She returned stronger, brighter, and more divine than she'd ever been.

     When she came to him wearing a mask and hiding a pistol under her skirt, he'd hoped she would stay, and that he would be free of his nightmares, but though her body said otherwise, her heart told him she didn't love him. She could never. And she would never feel safe in his arms. His affections would never be returned.

     His thoughts kept reverting to the nights they shared, as he suffered in that cell. Letting himself be lost in her embrace, not caring that the world existed outside that room, feeling her soft curves press tightly against him. He'd given himself over to her completely. His mind, body, and his very soul belonged to her those nights, the moment they first shared a kiss and every minute after. 

     She'd driven him mad, and he let her. Let it consume him, filling with hate, but also something more, something beyond what he ever thought he was capable of feeling. And he knew that he loved her. He knew that the minute he surrendered to her, the minute he decided his life was not more valuable than hers. That should his death bring her peace, he would welcome that choice. He would die for her. A thousand times over would he do so.

     And as he was in thought of this, the door at the end of the hall swung open, blinding him with light. 

     Guards were opening the door, letting someone into the room, someone golden, someone radient. And his heart lept. He half expected to see Reaver visiting his former King at times, to perhaps chastise him for his poor decision to hand over the kingdom so easily, but no. It was not Reaver, it was not anyone else but her. He knew it the second he heard her voice.

* * *

     "Leave us," she said quietly, dismissing the guards, and dutifully they bowed to their Queen, and allowed her a moment of privacy with the former King of Albion.

     It was dark when the door closed, so she conjured flame to light the torch mounted to the wall, and saw him at the far end, behind bars, sitting back on a bench, looking very defeated. He didn't get up, didn't move at all, and said nothing. No respectful bow to the newly crowned Queen of Albion, no address to the woman who grew up with this man, called him brother, called him King. No sarcasm, no disdain, nor mocking tone to fill her ears.

     Nothing. Simply silence between them as she slowly approached his cell. Everything she wanted to say to him, that she was never able to, and there she was as silent for a long minute as he. Words just simply wouldn't come at first.

     Though his eyes met hers, sad and dreary, a pragmatic expression in the firelight.

     "Tomorrow you will be judged for your crimes against the people of Albion," she informed quietly, attempting to mask the emotions that welled within her. 

     Anger, hate, but also pity, and...confusion. There were many things she had yet to piece together, and she wanted to know, had to know, _needed_ to...Gods, she felt like him just then. The first night they were...together. Desperate to know if what he felt was...something more. She masked her uneasiness as best as she could, gingerly grasping the bars of the cell to pour her gaze over him.

     "And tomorrow you will truly have the power over life and death," he said to her solemnly. "So have you come to say goodbye?"

     "Are you so certain you will be executed?" she asked then, leaning closer to the bars.

     "I deserve nothing less, don't I? Your eyes already condemn me. You've always held me in contempt, and...I don't blame you." He ever so slightly leaned his head. "The Queen of Albion...I've never seen a more beautiful woman in all of the kingdom," he admired with a grim expression.

     "Why didn't you tell me about Aurora?" she asked then.

     "There is no simple answer to that, darling," he said. "Though I suppose you want _some_ kind of an answer to that question? Maybe I'll have one tomorrow. I cannot find the words at the moment."

     "Try to answer, Logan," she pressed. "You made promises to help those people, and you abandoned them. And you won't so much as explain why? Or tell me why? Tell me what happened? What you saw-"

     "What I saw," he stood up then, slowly making his way across the floor, to meet her there, mere inches from her, startling her. "What I saw," he began more quietly, "I would never wish upon anyone. I didn't abandon the people of Aurora willingly, Adalia. I'm no Hero. I had no other choice. It was either Aurora, or all of Albion. I chose Albion. I chose _you_ , darling."

     "What do you mean?" she questioned, furrowing her brow in confusion. 

     Feeling anger welling up inside her that he was still pretending to care for her in some innocent way. Exasperated with how he addressed her so endearingly, as if they'd never been at war, but determined to get an answer, so she held fast. He only sighed, looking her over for a second or two, assessing her appearance, and she was desperate for an explanation of some kind. Everything about his behavior was...off. She didn't understand it.

     "There are things out there, a threat no one in Albion can stand against. Not without an army behind them. I had the choice to either aid the people of Aurora, or go back on my word, to protect Albion. I chose Albion." He gripped the bars, glaring at her, getting emotional. "I wasn't about to lose the kingdom. I wasn't about to lose you. I made the choice, and I made the decisions that had to be made to protect the people. I sacrificed their small comforts for the greater good, Adalia," he explained, his words biting into her. "I don't regret it," he added. 

     "You weren't saving Albion, 'brother', you were killing it!" she spat. "You bled them dry, and that's somehow protecting them? Letting them starve in the streets? Letting them die?! You've only made things worse, Logan!"

     "I made decisions to secure a military force to protect them!" he argued. "It was the only way I could ensure the funds. That they suffer now is a small price to pay compared to what they would face without my army safeguarding them. I had no other choice. No other option. I gladly became their villain, 'sister'...What good would it do to make them understand that their sacrifice is needed? That all in Albion must sacrifice, and endure hardship for the betterment of the kingdom? What should I tell them? Hmm? That I became the tyrant so that the future of our nation could flourish, without fear? That they suffer now so that future generations won't have to? Because there is something far worse beyond the sea than your 'dear brother', Adalia?"

     _We will devour your kingdom..._

     "You knew it was coming," she said quietly then, musing upon this information, eyes darting over the floor in thought. He gave her a quizzical expression then, and she wasn't sure why. "...That's why you taxed the people to death to build up your army. It wasn't to fight the Resistance, it was to..." she stopped speaking and locked eyes with him once more. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have understood, Logan. Or at least tried to." 

     He only threw his hands in the air, shaking his head, moving to flop back against the bench once more and stare at the floor.

     "Would you have believed me?" he asked. "Do you realize how maddening it sounds?"

     "I do. And I do believe that is the most _sane_ thing I've heard you say. I would have believed you, if you told me the truth. You were my brother and I loved you."

     Her words were met with silence.

     "You were oblivious to the world around you," he said quietly after a time. "Here in Bowerstone, you knew nothing of the world and it's corruption. You, Adalia, you weren't yet corrupted. I couldn't burden you with that. You were young, barely more than a child. I feared you wouldn't understand. The policies I set in place were too complicated, too...You were...so innocent-"

     "You _took_ that from me," she barked. "You stole that innocence! You took everything from me! You killed Elliot just to spite me, you fucking bastard!"

     "And I regret it now," he murmured. "I meant to put you in my place, so you would know how it felt, the burden I carry, and you..." he sighed. "Kill one to save a hundred. Kill a hundred to save a thousand, darling. You were the _one_ , that I would have killed _thousands_ for."

     "Don't you dare pretend to care about me!" she snapped, wanting desperately to rip the bars from the cell and tear into him, strangle him with her bare hands. She couldn't have done it a few weeks ago, that night in his chamber, pistol in hand, but she could now, couldn't she? The throne was hers. Why keep him alive?...Because this was Lydia's father, she reminded herself yet again.

     "I can't pretend, Adalia. I do. But it doesn't matter now. Tomorrow, you will sit where I sat, and you will judge me. Then you will kill me, and the fate of the kingdom will be in your hands. And what I feel won't matter anymore...But be careful, darling. That crown gets heavy, the longer you wear it."

     She fumed inside still, breathing erratically, and leaned her head to rest against the bars. He was right. It didn't matter. The kingdom was already hers, she repeatedly told herself this. But everything made sense, in a way, knowing full well of the darkness waiting on the other side of the waters between Albion and Aurora. One day she would have to return to that desert, and uphold her promise made to Kalin that she would help them. Unlike him. 

     "Do you remember the china doll you had as a child?" she heard him ask, his voice so quiet, even, no malice, no bite, just...tranquil. "You used to carry it everywhere with you. You'd run through the castle carrying that toy, and it was the only thing you cared about." 

     "Gods, I'd forgotten. You...you remember that?"

     "It's coming back to me." He then chuckled a little. "You cried for hours when you broke it. As if your world had ended. Your nursemaid was frantic. Nothing would soothe you. You didn't want another doll, just that one. Just...your little china doll."

     She looked up to his face, the slight hint of nostalgia in the memory, as he fixed his gaze on the floor in front of him.

     "I came into your room and saw you sitting there, pitching a fit over your toy. The doll in broken bits on the floor," he said.

     _Tainted...broken little toys..._

     "I remember now," she said quietly. "You fixed it for me. Glued it back together, piece by piece."

     "Yes, piece by broken piece. It hardly looked mangled at all. Like new." He raised a brow.

     "I called you my hero for fixing it," she remarked. 

     "Do you remember what I did next?" he asked. She nodded, feeling bitter just then, remembering, starting to tear up. "I placed it up on the mantle in your room," he said. "Up so high that you couldn't reach it."

     "I remember," she said. "I hated you for that," she sniffed, wiping her eye, chuckling dismally, the small smile dying as quickly as it rose up. "You said I could never play with it again. How angry I was at you for that. All because of a doll."

     "And you never did play with it again. But...it was never broken again," he said, then he slowly stood up, and approached her, and by this point she was trembling, fighting back tears, forlorn at how close they were once, how kind he was to her, fixing broken things, smiling at her so warmly, so lovingly, how much she admired him. She let out a ragged sigh. "And now look at you," she heard him say, as he gently placed his hands over hers, as they still gripped the bars of the cell. "My little china doll...Placed high up on the mantle, where I can't break you any more. But...I can never touch you again."

     There was an emotion in his voice that she couldn't name. She wanted desperately to pull away, yet...part of her resisted. She wanted to savor this moment, this fond memory she shared with him. She met his gaze. No, he could never touch her again, could never break her, never hurt her, not anymore than she already hurt herself, wasting so much time hating him. And so much time feeling something else. Something more.

     And for what? When nothing changed. Hating him, rebelling against him, going to war with him, taking his throne...it didn't bring Elliot back, or Swift, or her parents, or anyone she ever loved, and it didn't change the fact that though so much anger had welled within her for so long, anger directed at him...he gave her Lydia, didn't he? How could she hate him completely, without hating Lydia as well? Her dear, sweet Lydia?

     "Kiss me, Adalia," he said then, pressing against the bars. Desperate. Just like the night he took her innocence. "I want to feel alive once again, just this once, with you."

     "You are no longer King, Logan," she said quietly. "You don't get to make demands of me anymore."

     "It wasn't a demand," he pressed his forehead against the bar, running a thumb over her gloved hand, still holding it in place, not pinning her down, but silently rebelling against the idea of letting her go. She could feel it..."It's more like the last request of a dying man," he said.

     Her breath hitched. She blinked. Yes, this was real. And yes, this was happening. This was the end. There would be no going back after this, would there? She would sit upon the throne in the morning, and judge him, just as he judged countless others. And she would decide his fate. Whether any part of her loved him or not, the people of Albion would demand his head for the crimes he committed against him. 

     _Nothing in this world worth having is obtained without sacrifice..._

     He said that to her, and she remembered it still. She'd have to sacrifice him, wouldn't she? He didn't claim to be innocent, didn't offer evidence to such, and admitted his faults. Now he'd have to pay for them. She had to allow it.

     Hate him, or...love him, it didn't matter. She'd have to let him go, wouldn't she? She'd have to let go of all of it, put it behind her, and move on. Why, then, did she suddenly not want to? Was it because it was all she had? All that brewed inside her?...No, it couldn't be. There had to be more, much more. More than hating him and wanting to keep him alive, to watch him suffer, force him to live with his mistakes.

     No. There had to be love, for she felt unconditional love for her child, and for the people of Albion. There had to be kindness, there had to be...something. Something inside reserved for him too. Otherwise it wouldn't hurt so badly to think of taking his life. Pity, perhaps? She had plenty of opportunities to kill him, but she couldn't do it before. Maybe she had to now. Maybe it was what he wanted. Death meant freedom, from his pain, his sorrow, his curse. From her.

     She let out a ragged sigh.

     Tentatively she reached up to place a gloved hand on his cheek. He was warm. Not cold, not icy to the touch. Not a corpse. A living breathing man, at her mercy. Slowly she tilted her head, standing up on her toes to softly brush her lips against his. And there it was. That feeling. She'd only ever felt it with him. And it never made sense as to why until now. He leaned in, trying to keep from breaking the kiss, trying to hold on, but she pulled away, hearing his own breath falter. 

     She opened her eyes to see something she never thought she'd ever see. A tear falling from his cheek...In that moment, she didn't see a tyrant, didn't see a lunatic, didn't see a wicked, disgusting and cruel creature...She didn't see a monster, she saw...

     She saw a man. Just a mortal man. A broken, twisted, jaded man, but still just a man, the mask he wore removed for her to see the truth behind it. A man with a heart, and it had burst in his chest, pieced off into a thousand tiny splinters, with guilt and sadness slowly ebbing, leaking out of him, as if he'd been holding it in all his life and it finally threatened to spill. He slammed his eyes shut and more tears fell.

     "Long live the Queen," he muttered quietly, shakily, choking back his emotions as he slowly took his hands from hers, letting them fall to his sides. 

     Releasing her, it seemed, from the tight grip he'd had on her inhibition. She blinked. And then she left him there, choking back her own tears as she tore herself from the room. And in that moment, she admitted something to herself that she had simply refused to acknowledge before. She was in love with him. No, she couldn't kill him. She could pass judgement on him, she could say the words all she wanted, but she could never pull the trigger on the man she loved.

     Gods help her, she knew it was so.

**Author's Note:**

> _"And so he walks the gallows long._   
>  _The game is close to end._   
>  _The King has fallen to the Queen._   
>  _And shadows will descend."_


End file.
